Claims to Reputation
by Peradan
Summary: An charming but unscrupulous pair try to make their fortunes by marriage to their wealthy cousins. P&Pbased.
1. Chapter 1

**Letter 1: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham**

_January 2nd_

Dearest sis,

Forgive me for taking so long to write to you. It took me a day and a half more than I expected to get to Pemberley, although the view was almost worth it. Sometimes I half think Aunt Darcy fell for my uncle when she set eyes on this place. The chill caught up with my raptures, however, and I could only think of the comforts of the house - blankets, a change of clothes, the fire. Alas, no willing parlourmaids. I have no intentions of endangering myself, but in any case you know my uncle does not tolerate _licentious behaviour_ on his property.

Speaking of whom, I had not seen him since he had me caned for the aforementioned licentious behaviour four years ago, but I can assure you that he is every bit as forbidding and puritanical as he ever was. I quake in my boots at the sight of him. He would have made a fine clergyman, although he is so much master of his domain it seems impossible that he could ever be anyone else. I seem to be alone in my fear, however - I have never met a man so capable of inspiring affection from all and sundry, unlikely as it seems. -He is supposed to be an eloquent speaker, but I have scarcely had ten words from him. He simply _looks_ and I try not to squirm. You would tell me not to be so childish if you were here, but I feel about twelve years old and five feet tall.

Except in the main regard, of course, in which I am excruciatingly aware that I am not twelve at all, and neither is our dear cousin. I admit unreservedly that she is the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on. What a terribly hackneyed phrase! Yet if I try to describe her it is still worse - pale and tall and beautiful. If she sounds like her father, it is because she is, almost enough that I am half-frightened of _her._ But she is also clever and spirited and one cannot discount the lure of the unattainable. I would make the attempt had she but twenty thousand pounds, or even ten. I know how you would look, Bess, but it is quite true. For such a wife, a man would make many sacrifices. Oh, she is very cold, very distant in her manner towards me - years of hostility cannot be so easily overcome - but I have seen that there is warmth, tenderness, passion in her. The two of them, father and daughter, are thick as thieves and sometimes I hear them laughing together. It is rather disconcerting as I have never seen either show the slightest amusement at anything. I am not permitted into the charmed circle, but I flatter myself it is only a matter of time.

Aunt Darcy and the girls are the weak points, I believe. They are all prodigiously fond of me, and I can say with all sincerity that I quite reciprocate the feeling. It seems impossible that Aunt D should have ever fallen in love for such a man as my uncle, but I have no doubt that she did, for there is no mistaking her manner towards him. Oh, how I hated her! Do you remember? I hated the whole lot of them. Good God, they had everything, that lovely, happy, _wealthy_ family, and then Mama would take us back to scrape by until they quarrelled and we had only the Bingleys to beg charity from. Now I must pay for it - Elizabeth hasn't forgotten how I behaved then - but even this tie is better than none at all. As for Georgiana and Bella, they are sweet, unspoilt girls, and it should be no great difficulty to cultivate them. Bella is our sister, after all, whatever her education, and they all three have such affectionate hearts that they shall be easily won over - unlike the others, who consider me with various degrees of suspicion. You should have aimed higher, Bess. Edward has less of his father's looks and more of his temper; he overflows with disdain at what he calls the littleness of Society. He might defy it for defiance's sake alone. Then again, perhaps you are better where you are; our proud cousin feels his obligations keenly. Your only real chance would be with Christopher, and what care you for a child and a younger son?

I remain your loving brother,

George Wickham

**Letter 2: Elizabeth Wickham to George Wickham**

_January 6th_

My dear George,

Yes, you read the address correctly. I was tragically stranded in Hertfordshire on my way north - very near to Mama's childhood home, astonishingly enough. As concerned and careful a brother as you are, I felt assured you would wish to hear all the details of my latest misadventure. It has turned out much less badly than such unfortunate accidents often do. I am installed at Longbourn, a grateful recipient of the Collinses' hospitality, with nothing worse than a sprained ankle.

The Collinses themselves are quite kind and seem content enough with the addition to their family party. Mr Collins delights in displaying his charity and is constantly enquiring after my well-being. William is following his father's example admirably. Do not worry! nothing like a flirtation, I would not be so foolish. I am very humble and lowly in my manner - quite the image of proper feminine modesty. I have heard them wonder that I should have come from such a union, but they are pleased enough with the result. Is not everyone who knows me?

In all honesty, Mrs Collins is the only tolerable one of the lot. The girls are prim misses, though Kate joins some of her mother's sense to her father's illiberal mind. She is the namesake of _Lady Catherine de Bourgh,_ as her sister Charlotte never fails to delight in informing me. I was forced to mention - softly and shyly, of course - that I am well aware of that lady's connections, as her nephew married my aunt. They are now the most faithful little pets you can imagine.

That reminds me of your situation. I wish you luck, for you shall need it. You would have done better to wait for Georgiana. You forget I have seen them more recently than you - I accepted the invitation to Baildon last year, for Bella's sake. In a few years, little G could easily be persuaded to imagine herself in love with you - she seemed a sweet romantic sort of creature. Elizabeth is neither. She is a cold, passionless, eminently rational girl who cares for no one but her father who is just the same. I confess I do not understand the attraction - I do not deny that she is handsome, but proud icy beauties have never been to your taste before. _The lure of the unattainable_ - that is the only explanation, but it is a heady thing, I know. I know better than you do! Tread carefully, dear brother - if you think Uncle Darcy's fury when he caught you with the parlourmaid was terrible, it would be as nothing if you laid a finger on his precious daughter. You must be quite certain of yourself, and her - with her face and fortune, she could aim high, and I am sure she does. You will have to win her heart completely - no trifling infatuation will do. Dear George, I truly wish you the best of fortune.

Your affectionate sister,

E. W.

**Letter 3: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham**

_January 11th_

Dear Bess,

You cannot think I cherish any doubts of your capacity for enchantment. It is our dear cousin's prejudices that give me pause. If any man could be unaffected by your charms, even cloaked in apparent artlessness, it would be him. Illiberality and a mind untainted by any original thought does the work of perception and genius. -Well, perhaps not. If you convince him that you really are the picture of purity you seem - then matters will be different. There is generosity in his nature - I am sure it is from his mother, poor woman - he will be all the more powerfully struck _because_ of your unsavoury origins. Do not hide your ill fortune, flaunt it - tastefully, of course. Lament my mother and father's want of principle as much as their poverty. Spare mournful thoughts for your brothers and sisters, and remember your immense gratitude on Bella's behalf. Speak however you like of _me_ - and keep Jack as a model, though he would detest the very thought. He is exactly what they should think you are. In fact, you may wish to repair your bridges there - he would be better affirmation of the possibility of virtue than a thousand beautifully crafted falsehoods breathed through silver.

Am I not the best of brothers? Always ready to dispense useful advice? I am taking my cousin for an example, you see. Well, in _this_ matter - I could not dream of emulating most of his ways. There is something positively saintly about him - and I do not speak of a repentant St Augustine! He lives the most monastic existence possible for a young man, - perhaps the weight of being the example to his siblings; but no, for there are always respectable routes in that circumstance - others in his position and with something like his temperament manage discreet indiscretions. Partly, I think, he is daunted by his father, whose influence is very much felt here at Pemberley. I am careful not to speak a word against him, even if I dared - not even to the most downtrodden-looking servant.

Not that very many here are downtrodden, and if they are, it is their own fault - they seem quite a contented lot, and well they should be with what my uncle pays them. Do you know, I almost fancy a domestic life after staying here? You would laugh, I know. Yet there is something to be said for settling down, putting down roots, even creating a family - if there is money to do so comfortably. I don't know how they manage it, but in this house full of the most disparate characters imaginable, they all live together in the utmost degree of complaisance. It boggles the mind. I am determined to see how they manage it. Affluence only goes so far - just look at the Aucklands, they are profoundly miserable together.

Elizabeth smiled at me today. Now I am making you laugh again! As if I, a very accomplished flirt if I do say so myself, should be satisfied with so little; but from her, it is a great thing. Better still, Mr Darcy and St Edward are leaving for a few weeks, south to Ardsley. I think of London with a sigh, but it is better to stay away from temptation. There is little enough to alter my resolve here; only Elizabeth herself distracts me in any way. Yet you are right about one thing: she is not at all the sort I have always been attracted to before. Yet somehow I find myself unable and unwilling to resist. I notice the smallest, most trivial things. She has quite the strongest hands I ever saw in a woman - rather a pity as she will never need them. I would almost say she would have made a good farmer's wife had she a shade less hauteur. Yet I have seen the mask drop. Yesterday I was able to accompany her when she went to visit a tenant family. She was as easy as you please with _them_, and I made myself very charming to the children. It was easy enough;-I am fond of children.

Ah, little Georgiana. Were I determined to get any rich wife, I should undoubtedly adopt your scheme, but Bess, dear, I am not entirely without scruple. She is a little girl to be entertained, not a woman to be seduced. Thirteen years old! I am content to help her with her studies and make her laugh at my nonsense. Aunt Darcy finds it a relief, I daresay - G can be a very difficult child for all her sweetness. My aunt disapproves of me, I am sure, and likes me nonetheless. I suppose blood is thicker than water; I cannot dislike her, I am too fond of her. She is a lovely, remarkable woman - not quite a beauty, though very elegant - but she is my aunt and we are far more alike than my mother and I. Mama had all her liveliness burnt out of her long ago, but Uncle Darcy, whatever else I could say about him, cherishes and nourishes Aunt Darcy's while lacking anything like it himself. I cannot help simply enjoying her presence, in some ways more than Elizabeth's - for there is nothing else to muddy the waters with us. She is too clever and has been too much in the world, for me to attempt any sort of deceit with her. We simply talk of mundane matters but there is something about her that makes the dullest of subjects interesting. She is the only one I have ever heard you speak well of - unless your schemes for Georgiana count - and I can see why. She is so much a Darcy of Pemberley, yet one can see in her a sort of kinship to us and ours.

She asked after you and Mama particularly. Well, she is your godmother, though you are not in the least alike. I made her laugh with my talk of the newest fashions out of London.

Perhaps you might do the same with the Collins girls?-but no, that would not really fit the unsophisticated young ingénue, would it? But you do not mean to pretend you have not been in town, do you? It is always better to keep your deceptions as simple as possible - stay truthful as much as you can, except when it cannot be avoided. Use manner and implication rather than one of your convoluted stories. The Collinses may not be as deficient as they seem, barring _Mr_ Collins of course. There! I hope you are grateful for the plethora of brotherly advice. I imagine I shall have more promising news when I next write to you.

Give poor Mrs Collins my best wishes. To have borne such a child! One William Collins was quite bad enough.

George


	2. Chapter 2

**Letter 4: Lady Ravenshaw to Elizabeth Darcy**

_January 16th_

My dear girl,

Of course you may come. I have just sent the carriage. You do know, I hope, that you are always welcome with us. — Lizzy is not only willing to share her home and family, but longs to see you - she thinks herself quite as much your sister as she is Anne's.

G. H.

**Letter 5: Elizabeth Wickham to George Wickham**

_January 17th_

Who is the seducer and who is the seduced? I am really starting to wonder. Not that there is any deliberation on her part, of course, but your feelings may lead you astray. Perhaps they already have. You must be guarded — begin with a desire only for friendship, even as little as reconciliation. Elizabeth is not a sheltered miss, she will be on her guard. Be guided by your reason only, dear brother, nothing else is to be trusted. Only intellect is truly in your service; passion and gentler feelings both will betray your interests.

An opportunity has landed in your lap, but do not be too eager to grasp it. She will be more careful without her father's guidance, not less. To take advantage of the situation, you must convince her that you are utterly harmless, no threat to her person or her composure. She must think you safe, reliable, steady — even dull, if that is what it takes to win her trust.

I must confess to a certain amount of wariness, George. Elizabeth is just the sort of girl I most dislike: because she can afford to be virtuous she enjoys disdaining those who cannot. Edward is a gullible prig. Christopher is more promising, but quite the most self-absorbed boy in the world, and the little girls, though sweet and pleasant enough, are insipid. I have no patience with Mrs Darcy's airs; her husband is sanctimonious and overbearing. And all of that notwithstanding, they are our only chance. Do _anything_ before alienating them.

Who sent Jack to Cambridge? Whose interest has allowed you to rise in your profession already? Whose connections have allowed me to mingle in good society? We would be scraping a living out of those hovels we lived in were it not for them. We do not have to like them, but to remain on good terms is _crucial_, not just for you and me, but Charles, Jack, Bella, all of us. Until I catch William, we are absolutely dependent on their good will. Do nothing to jeopardise it; I do not care how alluring or tempting or challenging you find our cousin to be, not all of her wealth is worth the prospect of losing their patronage.

Mr and Mrs Bingley are our only other respectable connections, and they are wealthy, but even their wealth will not amount to much, spread amongst seven children — and six of them girls! Really I would be surprised if cousin Charles' inheritance is worth more than four thousand a-year by the time they are all disposed of. Do you understand me? I am making good progress on this front, but think of Bella, Jenny, little Kit, think of yourself, before you do anything precipitous.

Forgive my ill humour, George; it is a trial to maintain the constant appearance of good temper here. They would leap on the tiniest flaw in my demeanour, I can afford no mistakes. I faltered — in a moment of weakness I mentioned to William my longing to see the garden, anything pretty and natural. And can you imagine what that dear, stupid, chivalrous boy did? He offered to carry me out to the park so I could see the snow falling. I had to refuse, of course — this time — but so graciously that he kissed my hand instead of shaking it, and called me 'dear cousin.' I am most assuredly making progress. William made Catherine go outside and draw the scene — she is a tolerably good artist.

Ah, I am foolishly sentimental today; I miss you, and I miss Charles and Jenny, even Penelope's creep-mouse ways and Jack's sermons and Mama and Papa's quarrels. I would be gone in a moment if I was actually back home, of course.

Elizabeth

**Letter 6: Lady Ravenshaw to Mr Darcy**

_January 18th_

Fitzwilliam,

Forgive me, but I am rather concerned about Elizabeth. She is uncomfortable with that nephew of yours, although she admits that she has no reason to be so. I have never seen her so eager to come here, nor so reluctant to leave. As far as she can tell, the nephew wishes to make amends for his unfortunate behaviour growing up — there is nothing untoward at all — but still she is not at ease. I, of all people, cannot blame her; you know I am as fond of her as I am of Lizzy, I would gladly have her with me as long as she desires, but it seems wrong that he should be welcomed there and she driven from her own home. Yet if he has done nothing to warrant dismissal — oh, I will freely admit it, I cannot help distrusting any charming young man named Wickham.

I am sure it is unfair, and he is your nephew. Elizabeth says he is everything amiable and certainly he is not his father, he has done more with less, but nevertheless — could not Edward go on without you? No — of course not — but I cannot think of anything better. Fitzwilliam, you are the clever one, surely you can think of something? If you were there, or anyone she could confide in, it would be different. You and Edward are her only mainstays, I think; I try and convince her to trust her mother, but like all girls her age, she is convinced she knows best, Mama could never properly understand, it would not be right, etc etc.

I hope I am not impertinent, brother, but she was so distressed when she arrived, if it had not been for Lizzy's delight at seeing her, I really think she would have burst into tears. I do hope the visit has done less harm than good, it pains me to see my dear niece so unhappy. Tell me what you wish for her. I will see it done.

Your sister,

Georgiana

**Letter 7: Mr Darcy to Lady Ravenshaw**

_January 28th_

Georgiana,

I am aware that Elizabeth is unsettled with the present situation at Pemberley, though neither she nor I can think of an adequate reason for it. I would have her stay with you as long as you will have her. We would rather she confide in you than no one; do not fear overstepping your bounds in that regard. Let her do some good, it will please her more than anything and she needs all the good humour at her disposal to manage George.

I do not trust him; I admire his tenacity, but some things cannot be forgotten, and if he is not vicious, neither would I call him a young man of principle. As practical as he is, his intentions may be simple enough: a determination to be on the best terms possible with those whose interest can be turned to his advantage. Perhaps his natural duplicity, if such a conjunction may be allowed, is all that unsettles her — she has always had an antipathy for that sort of thing — I can only hope it is so little. If I had known before I left, I should not have gone, for all the steward's crookedness. But now there is nothing to be done for it.

My dear sister, a countess you may be, but to me you will always be little Georgiana, and so I have no qualms about the occasional reprimand. Your ladyship's penmanship is beginning to compare to Bingley's. How came you to write the address so ill that it was sent to _Pendleton?_ I am deeply grateful that you are so affected by my daughter's welfare, but Georgiana, you must learn to take care. I would never have left had I known how distressed she was — that is, had I received your letter in a timely fashion. Meanwhile I have discovered that Wilcox is an utter scoundrel and draining the estate of all it is worth. There are too many lives dependent upon him to let him be, but it will take time to set everything to rights. I cannot in good conscience leave until I have done so, as I trust Elizabeth will be safe in her mother's hands and yours. I know you would never consciously neglect the good of any of the children.

Nevertheless, you are quite right; she is surrounded by parents and children. She needs not another protector but a companion, a friend. Not long ago, you said that Darcy is restless and dissatisfied at Beaufort - I shall send for him. He has no interest in the profligacy and extravagance of most heirs: he will be delighted to be of use to someone, and he is as fond of Elizabeth as any brother could be.

Please give your family my regards.

Your brother,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

**Letter 8: Mr Darcy to Lord Rochford**

_January 28th_

Darcy,

I believe my family would very much enjoy your presence at Pemberley, if it is not too much of an imposition. My wife's nephew, George Wickham, is presently enjoying an extended holiday at my home;—need I say more? Elizabeth is quite distressed and I believe would especially welcome your company. As it is, she is running off to your mother every other week. I myself must remain at Ardsley for some time, except in the circumstance of a less ephemeral crisis at home, and would be greatly relieved to know someone worthy of trust was watching after Elizabeth in particular.

Please give my regards to my cousins.

F. D.

**Letter 9: Lord Rochford to Mr Darcy [express]**

_January 31st_

Sir,

I am honoured by your confidence and will be at Pemberley tomorrow.

Darcy


	3. Chapter 3

**Letter 10: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham**

_February 2nd_

Bess,

Have no fear of heedless behaviour on my part. Even had I such an inclination, I am not in the habit of rating my impulses above my reason. The final decision will have to be Elizabeth's; not only am I not such a man as to prefer my women unwilling, but I cannot afford, we cannot afford, any culpability to rest with me. However fond of her I am, I will not allow it to overcome my interests. Acting on passion has never done any of our family good. One need only look at my mother to see that.

The first week of Mr Darcy's absence went well enough. I made Elizabeth laugh; we looked over poetry together — she has a fondness for romantic poetry, but she made me promise not to tell her mother. There is, I think, something of caution and suspicion still there, but it seems that she is content to enjoy my company for the present. At first, she was often gone — visiting with her aunt, it transpires, who lives about fifteen miles away. However, she quickly found my company tolerable enough to remain here. I rather owe little Georgiana for that. I sat down to entertain her, meaning nothing by it except to entertain myself; I did not even think Elizabeth present at the time.

'Elizabeth!' G cried, and I glanced up. There she was, just returned from Ardsley, standing in the doorway. I have no idea how long she was there; that my greatest progress with her occurred completely by accident on my part seems particularly bemusing. I had nothing prepared to say and must have looked very stupid as I stood there gaping at her — she was nothing like the impeccable Miss Darcy I have generally seen.

'I — I beg your pardon,' said I. 'We, Georgiana and I, were merely . . . er . . . playing a game.'

I had never seen her expression so soft, and tried to think of some way to take advantage of it; but G took matters quite into her own hands. 'I missed you, Elizabeth. Why are you hardly ever here? And I'm sure Cousin George missed you too. Did not you, George?'

Elizabeth looked guilty as I said with all the eloquence at my disposal, 'I . . . er . . .'

'You must not go away again, even to Aunt Ravenshaw's,' my young accomplice declared, 'You are needed here. What would Papa think?' She stood there, hands on her hips, looking for all the world a golden-haired version of her mother, and neither Elizabeth nor I could help laughing.

Of course it was awkward after that and she fled — there was some excuse about having travelled — but it was most assuredly progress. Bless that girl!

However, that was only the first week. On Monday a new addition to our charming family party arrived. Mrs Darcy was pleased though startled to see him, while the girls were nothing less than delighted.

You will, of course, recall Darcy Fitzwilliam, one of my uncle's plethora of godchildren - and the only nephew of his own blood. We detested one another growing up, and the sentiment continues unabated, if relieved by somewhat improved manners on both sides. He is now heir to the earldom, still proud as Lucifer, still Mr Darcy's favourite. I daresay my esteemed uncle is still suspicious of my intentions and has sent his minion ahead to protect his interests! A cunning plot, but I am not fooled.

Forgive my dull spirits. I am very happy for you, dear. You must send the happy news to me as soon as you are certain of it.

G. W.

**Letter 11: Lord Rochford to Lady Anne Dashwood**

_February 4th_

Anne,

I can certainly see why my uncle wanted me here. Wickham is very sly, very clever, but there is no doubt in my mind as to his motives. He appears to be trying to get into all their good graces, but his preference for Elizabeth's company is obvious enough. The whole lot of that family are loathsome creatures. Somehow he insinuates his way into nearly every aspect of her life. He never lets her alone, except when she escapes to my mother.

I quite detest him. I would never dream of anything so ill-bred as a quarrel before the servants, of course, but I have made it perfectly clear that I am neither fooled nor confused.

I have been talking to Mrs Darcy, who of course sees more than anybody guesses. She is such a sensible woman. Some clever ladies are not, you know, but she is always practical. She likes him, of course; she can't help it. He is her nephew, and in fact as far as I can tell his fondness for her is genuine. Well, I daresay he _is_ genuine, as far as it goes — he likes Bella, of course, but also Georgiana, and I imagine children in general, and there is no doubting his passion for Elizabeth. That does not make him any less of a vicious, unprincipled cad.

I am not entirely certain how to manage it. Thus far, I have simply joined them. It is worth it simply to see the expression on their faces — he always trying to be charming and agreeable, and of course quite livid, and Elizabeth so relieved. She does not dislike him exactly, but she is so bewildered she hardly knows up from down, poor girl, and she misses her father. The difficulty is that it is just as difficult for me to get her alone as Wickham. At least the Season will soon be upon us and we may go to town. George will probably finagle an invitation there, but he will not be welcome many places, Mrs Darcy's nephew or not, and there will be more opportunities for conversation then.

If you could see the way he looks at Elizabeth, it would anger you just as much as it does me. They say that blood will tell, and it is certainly true in this case — there is something unquestionably _vulgar_ in him. He is, to put it simply, not quite a gentleman. It's odd: the steward grandfather, I understand, was quite a respectable sort — but then there is Mrs Wickham. Forgive me, I know she is my aunt's sister, but you must admit that her people were very much below par as to good society and its ways_._

Adieu, dear sister. Give my regards to your husband, and if you must, your mother-in-law.

Darcy

**Letter 12: Lady Auckland to Elizabeth Darcy**

_February 7th_

My dear cousin,

Forgive this little scrap of a note, but I understand that you have _certain company _at Pemberley that is not altogether agreeable to you. You have never required it, but I expect you would have no hesitation in writing to any of us, should you ever desire advice, or simply a confidant. We will be in town for the Season and I dearly hope to see you then. You have not been seen as you ought, and you are lovely, elegant, and accomplished, everything a well-bred girl ought to be and then some. We are all so very fond of you: if your father does not mean to come, then we would gladly have you with us.

Yours affectionately,

Diana Auckland

**Letter 13: Lady Anne Dashwood to Elizabeth Darcy**

_February 9th_

Dear Elizabeth,

I have just had a long gossipy letter from Darcy; I hardly know what to make of it. I understand that that rakish nephew of your mother's is at Pemberley? I think too well of your sense to imagine you swayed by such attractions. He is the very thing the family would most hate, but that is not a reason to encourage him. Even men of his sort deserve consideration, and I would not wish to be indelicate, but he may have feelings for you that run deeper than passions of the flesh. If so, you must be gentle in your discouragement, but firm; leave no question where you stand.

This may be entirely precipitous, of course. Over distance, these things can be sadly misrepresented, and Darcy so detests Wickham. Would it be too difficult to speak to him privately, and allay some of his concerns? He is horrified that you might fall victim to a fortune-hunter, cousin or not. And though he can be a stuffy fool, beneath it all he has only the best of intentions. You understand, I am certain, that nobody in the family would approve a match of this sort. They have great ambitions for you! I would be pleased enough to see you comfortably settled with a respectable man; then, you could be happy, and that is all I wish for any of you.

Look at your parents: have you ever met a couple better suited? Yet there was nobody in the family pleased about it. It all happened before I was born, but I remember the stories well enough. She was by no means well-born, but good enough — just — for his position, and they did better under each other's influence in four years than anyone else could manage in twenty. But you must remember that your mother, despite everything, was a gentleman's daughter; Wickham does not have that claim. His father is a drunkard, his grandfather was a steward. He is in no respect good enough for you. You deserve better, Elizabeth. I would rather see you with one of the Gardiners. Their father may have been in trade, but he is rich now, and they are all respectable and well-bred.

I have convinced Henry to go to town this Season. I would love nothing more than to see you admired as you ought to be; you must come and stay, if your parents mean to bury themselves in the country this year.

Your loving cousin,

Anne Dashwood

**Letter 14: Mrs Darcy to Mrs Wickham**

_February 10th_

Lydia,

Enclosed are fifty pounds to cover your debts. George begs to be remembered to both of his parents.

E. D.


	4. Chapter 4

**Letter 15: Mrs Darcy to Mr Darcy**

_February 10th_

My dear husband,

You are sorely missed — and not only by myself — but of course you must remain at Ardsley. I am not at all surprised at the state it is in. Wilcox was rather like a clever Mr Collins — a frightening thought, truly. Perhaps the curate might be of some assistance? He is no Stanley, but I believe he could do considerable good in the village, at least, and some financial compensation for his efforts would certainly be welcome: a pittance to us would be unimaginable wealth for them.

As for George, I hardly know what to think, and you know better than anybody that that is not an affliction I am often subject to. He is very careful, very proper, but I am almost certain he is very much in love with Elizabeth. His intentions are all that I remain undecided about. His fear of you made him guarded; he takes much less care now, particularly since Elizabeth is less distant towards him. She is, however, nowhere near to reciprocating his feelings, or even enjoying his attentions. I have no doubt that her fortune and position are a large part of the attraction; I cherish no illusions as to his character, however amiable he may seem. He may intend a respectable courtship, but I doubt it; he must know that there would be objections from every possible quarter.

Darcy - I suppose I should say Rochford, now - is a welcome relief. Both young men pride themselves on their manners — charming and well-bred respectively — and that very pride ensures that they hold one another in exquisite contempt and refuse to act upon it. Their cordiality is truly awe-inspiring. Elizabeth and I can hardly keep ourselves from laughing.

She has spoken to me, a little, of the situation; I would wish for more, but I am certain every girl of one and twenty thinks it impossible that her mother could _ever_ have been young. Except Bess: I have never been able to like her, but I pity her as I do them all, all those children paying for the missteps of youth. To this day I wonder, if I had been a little less credulous, would it not all have been avoided? Yet who am I to wish eleven children, my own nephews and nieces, unborn? I am fond of the others, as much as I can manage. Poor Jack and Bella, they are so out of place. I confess I would be delighted to have him here as well, I think he would be a very good influence on Christopher.

Alas, instead we have George. I like him, I do, but I do not wish him for Elizabeth, in character or situation. I am starting to think she has not really spoken to anyone. She has grown quite as nervous as my sister Stanley, all in barely six weeks' time. We are at such odds and ends, I am half inclined to send for every sensible relation I can think of, simply to keep the peace. Darcy told me himself that he would dearly love to run George through. Do you think he will ever learn that there is a line between honesty and tactlessness? Even Georgiana lacks his singular capacity for offence. Simply keeping the household intact is a feat of genius on my part.

Oh, did I mention that the servants dislike George, as well? —his food is always cold now and I have not the heart to reprimand M. Renaud for it. They are all conspiring to make his life as unpleasant as possible. I am practising a disapproving expression in the mirror for when they force me to confront them over it. Otherwise it will be so evident that we are all of one mind, they will simply attempt to subvert my orders in some newly creative fashion. There is no pride like that of an upper servant. I still remember the baleful glares I used to receive from old Roberts, or would have if he had been able to see me. Only you, my love, would keep a blind valet.

Fitzwilliam, I will not ask you to hurry. Your concerns there are far weightier than this parody of a courtship. Write back to me quickly, one of your delightful long, rambling letters full of advice and nerves and how dreadfully you miss me.

I have been thinking, if we go to town for the Season, Elizabeth would be exposed to much wider company and be free to go her own way without shunning George. Georgiana and Bella are such healthy girls, I am sure there is no danger.

Give Edward my love, and tell him that I have it from Lady Westmorland that her daughter does not think beards at all flattering so he might as well spare himself the trouble of growing one.

I remain your loving wife,

Elizabeth Darcy

**Letter 16: Lady Auckland to Mr Darcy**

_February 12th_

Mr Darcy,

I feel obliged to mention our anxiety over my cousin Elizabeth's situation. If you cannot go to town, Auckland and I would be delighted to have her stay with us. I hope I am not impertinent, sir, but a girl of her birth, beauty, and genius deserves to be seen, and I am certain that in no time at all, she would discover that this whole dreadful affair is only a molehill after all.

D. A.

**Letter 17: Lady Anne Dashwood to Edward Darcy**

_February 13th_

Edward,

I am certain you know all about your cousin Wickham's infatuation with Elizabeth? Darcy is quite concerned, and we all think that it would be greatly for the better if she went to London where he would just be one among many beaux. You know as well as I that his intentions cannot possibly be honourable. It would be very helpful, I believe, if you spoke to your father on the subject.

Anne

**Letter 18: Lord Rochford to Mr Darcy**

_February 15th_

Sir,

I fear my cousin is growing quite highly-strung. I wish to heaven that I could do more! Yet even I have seen nothing truly reprehensible in Wickham's behaviour. Perhaps, if she were in larger company, the effect would be lessened? I know my sister or cousins would be pleased to have her with them, if you do not care to go yourself. Forgive me if I am too impertinent, but I must confess that it makes me ill to see her peace of mind so destroyed, and in her own home.

Da Rochford

**Letter 19: Lord Ravenshaw to Mr Darcy**

_February 17th_

Darcy,

I have received incoherent demands from my children to persuade you to stay in town this spring. I daresay this has some connection to the urgency of Darcy's sudden desire to visit Pemberley? Come by all means. I should feel infinitely better if I knew you were sharing the misery of London life.

**Letter 20: Dowager Lady Auckland to Mr Darcy**

_February 20th_

Fitzwilliam, what on earth is the matter? Diana, Anne, Darcy, and Edward (yes, your Edward) are up in arms about going to town, as if Elizabeth's eternal salvation depended upon it. Of course I should like to see you all, but I am clearly ignorant of some great matter.

P. A.

**Letter 21: Mr Darcy to Elizabeth Darcy**

_February 21st_

My dearest Elizabeth,

I should be home by your birthday, as planned. I will be forced to leave some matters unfinished, but I believe Jamison will be fully capable of carrying on with Edward's guidance. It has been a good opportunity for your brother to learn how to manage an estate in practice as well as principle, but I regret that the matter has taken me from the rest of my family.

I will not mince words, my dear. George has given me no reason to suspect him of any untoward intentions. The only cause for distrust is my own impression of his general character as essentially immoral and faithless — completely unsubstantiated by his present behaviour, I must add — and your own discomfort. I do not wish to be the domineering father of novels, but on this point I must insist: if there is anything else, you _must_ tell me, or your mother. Above all, even before affection, I owe you my protection, but I can with justice do nothing in this circumstance, without any more information than you have given me.

That said, I will confess that I do not believe anything more has happened, and that _that_ is exactly what makes this so awkward and unpleasant for you. The very fact of this — that there is nothing firm enough to put your finger on — is what renders the whole affair so troublesome.

You should also know that your mother believes George is in love with you. Do not fear any conflict of her feelings. She does not love your cousin; she feels an obligation to him as her nephew, and she likes him — that is all. He will _never_ be to her what you are. She would rather see him begging on the streets than see you suffer a moment of unnecessary pain. She worries as much as any mother could. The difference in your dispositions has prevented any great degree of confidence from subsisting between you, but the habits of childhood need not carry into the future. I know better than anybody that reserve is difficult to conquer, but just as well I know it can be done. I hope I need not remind you that she cares for you as much as your aunt and I do, and in this matter is as deeply concerned. It would not take a great deal, a word or two, to assuage her present fears. You should not forget, _Elizabeth_, that you are her child as much as mine, and you owe her a daughter's consideration.

As for solutions, the simplest is what you have yourself discovered — absenting yourself from his company. I have received a flurry of letters, and I imagine you have also, advising us to return to town this spring. If we choose to do so, George will undoubtedly be there also, but not the greatest of connections would allow him to associate with those you shall. This, needless to say, seems a near universal desire, and I am fully prepared to acquiesce unless there is an objection I am ignorant of.

Forgive the severity of this letter and know that it springs only from my affection and concern.

Your father,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

**Letter 22: Mr Darcy to Mrs Darcy**

_February 21st_

I shall begin straightaway by begging your forgiveness for the tardiness of my reply. My only excuse is that I am trying as hard as I can to finish my business here on time, not to mention the recent influx of poorly disguised demands.

Letters are very poor substitutes for your company. Mr Bellingham's chambers are as dreary as might be expected of such a man. He was seventy-one when I was born, and his tastes were that of the elderly and illiterate man he was. My great-aunt did little to alter the room, except replacing the portrait of his mother with that of her own grandfather. He was by all accounts a vicious, mercenary, sinister man whose general villainy forced his children to flee home by whatever means possible; I can easily believe it. If family legend had accounted him a deformed libertine who locked his wife in the attic, I could just as easily believe _that_. His portrait is something out of a horrible dream; he had the family looks and his face seems a twisted caricature of my own, except the eyes — his are, or rather were, brown, close-set, and beady. It is a fortunate difference; I only had nightmares every _other_ night until I swallowed my pride and demanded that the thing be removed.

I am certain I could not have cared less about the misdeeds and ill-favoured looks of the first Alexander Darcy had you been here: you would have laughed me out of it fast enough. I sent for the portrait of Elizabeth and Georgiana when they were small to replace it; we never know where to put it and doubtless Alexander would have detested such gross sentimentality. My imagination, perhaps, but the thought comforts me.

Would you care to inform me if there have been any developments on the Pemberley front? I expect that the general anxiety is more a result of news being intensified as it passes — but this is uncommonly fast even for us. My sister, my nephew, my niece, my aunt and two of my cousins have already written, in addition to Edward's attempts at subtlety and your own letter. I know perfectly well that you would have written of less ethereal concerns, had anything of substance occurred. I have already been forced to lay down an ultimatum, likely an unnecessary one, to Elizabeth. If it would mean an end of this insanity, I would be perfectly happy to go to town; and if it ensures a cessation in separations I would be even more delighted. We have been spoilt by a life of ease, my dear; we have not wished to be apart and therefore we have not been. How long has it been since our last parting? Thirteen years? Fifteen? Yes — it was when your aunt Phillips and my uncle Dalrymple died in the same week.

Sometimes I really think the advantages of relocation to the Continent cannot be overestimated. Of course, if you were here, you would observe how little a sulky expression befits a man of my _advanced years_. It reminds me of when I tried running away when I was fourteen; I was miserable within an half-hour. Did I ever tell you about that? It was after my mother fell ill and I had violently quarrelled with my father. He lectured me on the importance of controlling my temper and I was so enraged by what I saw as his hypocrisy that I determined to leave at that very moment.

So you were quite right. I am rambling, and I miss you greatly. I have become quite grim and humourless in your absence, or rather, in mine. I had forgotten how cold I sleep; I have seen fifty years, and without your warmth, however much I generally complain about it, I feel every day of them. Your portrait, after all, is not here to remind me of the man I was when we were married, or of the possibility of joy beyond mere contentment, such as I constantly felt then. But I would not wish it here — I would not wish it moved at all. The very idea sends a chill down my spine, though as much out of — likely excessive — delicacy as sentiment. If Edward saw that! If anybody did! You would call me a prude and perhaps I am, but _that_ young lady is fit for no eyes but mine.

The little miniature I have of you is not the same, just as letters are not the same. I feel as distant from 'young Mr Darcy' as 'that little nephew of Lord Ravenshaw's.' I am tired, I can almost feel my hair turning whiter. Yes, I think we should go to town. If George happened across me on a day like this, I would as likely order him off my property as not. It has been so long since everyone relied on my judgment alone, I have lost all taste for it.

I think I shall come home early. Do not tell Elizabeth; I should like to surprise her. In truth, though, my greatest desire is to see you again, to talk to you. Nevertheless be not alarmed by the dreary tone of this letter. There is nothing the matter with me; I am only in poor spirits. I blame Ardsley. I half believe the locals who claim there is a curse on this place. The Bellinghams are the likeliest people in the world to attract that sort of thing, I daresay.

I wish I had chosen a different phrase now. It is too close to the other letter. I suppose you still have the dreadful thing somewhere, it will become a family heirloom and in a few centuries be worth thousands of pounds and our descendants will puzzle themselves over what it could possibly mean. 'Be not alarmed' — that is the only part I remember with any accuracy now.

I have already written Elizabeth a very stern letter and begged her forgiveness for the manner of writing, so I might as well conclude by asking yours for raking up the past again. Give my love to the children, and I hope to see you a few days after you receive this.

Your devoted husband,

Fitzwilliam Darcy


	5. Chapter 5

**Letter 23: Mr Collins to Mr Darcy**

_February 22nd_

Mr Darcy,

I am sensible how much this address is breaking in and interrupting your most important thoughts and business, which the honour and interest of our most gracious sovereign, and the nation, can but ill dispense with. And fearing to offend you, by expatiating on the affability, candour, and humanity, which has gained you universal applause among all ranks of the people, I must beg your pardon for the manner in which I intrude upon your notice.

The business regarding my son and Miss Wickham — a most unfortunate affair — has brought to my mind the necessity of more diligent care. There is no blame to be placed on your niece, of course; I am only grieved, deeply grieved, that such an affront should come at the hands of my son — I assure you he is in general the most upright and principled of young men, barring your own magnificent offspring. The lady's brother, I am given to understand, resides at your exalted and noble abode, and I hope I am not too impertinent in extending an invitation on his behalf to look after her in her present discomfort?

I am, sir, your humble servant,

William Collins

**Letter 24: Elizabeth Wickham to George Wickham**

_February 23rd_

Dear George,

I have been obliged to complain to Mr Collins of his son's outrageous conduct. Charlotte and Catherine are good enough to comfort me as I write this; I assure you I have rarely been so shocked in my life. I had not the slightest idea that his feelings were so fervent. It is truly my own fault; I should not have attempted to walk so soon, and stumbled all down a hill. I might have broken my neck! As it happens, I only broke my ankle.

William was really very distressed; I am sure that is the only reason he kissed me. But do not be alarmed, dear brother; he took no further liberties with my person and it was not wholly disagreeable.

This regrettable incident has shown me, however, that the chaperonage here is shamefully inadequate. I will ask Jack to come for Easter, I am certain he can spare the time.

Please pass on my regards to my cousins and aunt.

Your loving sister,

Elizabeth

**Letter 25: Mr Darcy to Mrs Darcy**

_February 25th_

My dear Elizabeth,

I have received the most curious letter from Mr Collins. I enclose it here as I would not presume to adequately represent the tone of his correspondence. Do you know, by chance, what on earth he is speaking of? You may need to speak to George about what scheme his sister is hatching this time.

F. D.

**Letter 26: George Wickham to Elizabeth Wickham**

_February 26th_

My dear sister,

I presume that you wrote your last charming letter while in the company of our cousins? I am very sorry for that unhappy incident. You have such admirable composure! I do not think any other woman could so serenely continue in his company. Forgive me for having doubted your abilities in this regard. Though, as you said, I daresay it was the impulse of the moment; I believe him to be a young man of sterling character.

When you are forced into solitude, you must inform me, so that I may express my condolences properly; I fear what to say, out of concern for my fair cousins' sensibilities. Mr Collins, it seems, was quite disturbed and wrote to Mr Darcy. Do not fear, he places no blame on your shoulders, but he thinks it might be better if you were to enjoy my company. That, I fear, will be impossible at present, though once we are in London, matters may be different; for now, I replied to my aunt's very _discreet_ inquiries that Jack would be a much greater comfort to you. I am such a good-for-nothing fellow, after all.

I hope your recovery continues unhampered, Bess. I remain your affectionate brother,

George Wickham

**Letter 27: Mrs Darcy to Mrs Bingley**

_March 1st_

Dearest Jane,

I trust that you and Mr Bingley enjoy good health? The ordinary civilities dispensed with, we are all in an uproar of sorts at Pemberley.

By _of sorts_ I mean that all appears perfectly well on the surface. To summarise: George managed to finagle an invitation and is staying at Pemberley with us until he returns to his work in town. He is extraordinarily attentive to Elizabeth, and therefore she finds solitude a rare luxury since his arrival. More than that, she is quite uncomfortable in his company, for no particular reason. When Fitzwilliam left — the steward at Ardsley was irredeemably corrupt — matters quickly turned into a comedy of errors. Elizabeth stayed with Lady Ravenshaw for a few days and mentioned something of her feelings to her; Lady H in turn confided her fears for Elizabeth in Mr Darcy at Ardsley. Naturally he thought the best solution was to arrange for the additional company of someone Elizabeth trusts — Lord Ravenshaw's son Darcy Rochford. Well, _he_ was enough alarmed to write to his sisters, who wrote to their father and cousins and other sundry relations — and I daresay you can imagine what is happening now.

The simplest solution, and the universal favourite, is to go to town. There, Elizabeth will have opportunities to spend her time away from George, she will be exposed to good society (and husbands more acceptable in _every_ regard), we may enjoy all the entertainments London has to offer, and I am quite certain that F. is itching to — what was his latest phrase for it? _Exercise his influence._ He liked the grand speeches and the excitement of the elections well enough when we were young, but now he prefers to take a less active, or at least more subtle, role in such affairs.

I am sorry about your trouble with Martha and Kitty; I confess I would never have thought it of _Martha._ You know, of course, that we would be more than delighted to have her with us? They have always been somewhat overwhelmed by my husband, and Elizabeth, you know, would not tolerate that sort of nonsense for a moment. She might be a good influence on her — or even Catherine; I always thought they were rather in awe of her. She quite has her father's gift for inspiring deference, and a strong dose of insignificance might do them some good!

I am so pleased about Theophilus. Mary really thought he might never recover. Even taking her nerves into account, I was nearly about to send our physician for him. My sister Stanley is the best of health, though she shows some tendencies alarmingly reminiscent of Mama at that age. When she advised (almost demanded!) that Bella come out with Georgiana, I said — oh, it is terrible, I said, 'both? the younger out before the elder is married?' Somewhere, Lady Catherine de Bourgh is laughing — or smiling condescendingly, as seems more likely. She didn't approve of laughter.

Well, we shall go to town, and I will not make any matches. I have promised myself, — though perhaps a little proper encouragement might be permissible. F. is oblivious to it all — men will be men. Though I daresay he may find it necessary to expand his repertoire of fearsome glares.

Tell me your wishes for Martha and Kitty, Jane, and give my best regards to your family.

Your sister,

Elizabeth Darcy

**Letter 28: Martha Bingley to Elizabeth Darcy**

_March 5th_

My dear aunt,

Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for your kind invitation. I am so happy, everyone is horrid unpleasant here — oh, and please extend my gratitude to my uncle, he is so kind and I do not deserve it. I will be on my very best behaviour, I have promised Mama and I promise you.

Should I have any new dresses? Mama says last year's are good enough, but being Mr Darcy's niece is very different from being plain Miss Martha Bingley, is not it? Could you persuade her that I need new ones? And my very favourite, the sprigged muslin, has a rip in it! Papa is no good at all, he does whatever she says. But I do not want to impose, so I can ask somebody else if you would rather not.

Oh, and thank you for not inviting Kitty too. I am very fond of her but she is in dreadful spirits since that business with Mr — oh, I forget his name. But the one that was so violently in love with her. She hates hurting people's feelings, I really think she would have accepted him if I had not persuaded her out of it, but she didn't care a whit for him, I know she didn't. But I hope nothing will happen while I'm away. Kitty is just as complaisant as Papa and I know she will agree to anything if I am not there to look after her, but I will tell her to write to me constantly and that will be that.

Thank you, again, and please give my best, most grateful, regards to my uncle and my cousins and anybody else I should be sending regards to.

Your loving niece,

Martha Bingley

**Letter 29: Martha Bingley to Sarah Gardiner**

_March 5th_

Dear Sarah,

Oh, I am so happy! The Darcys are going to town, did you know? And Mrs Darcy invited me to stay with them this Season. I've never been in town over the Season, because Mama does not want me to stay with my aunt Hurst (I think there was a scandal there, and I _shall_ discover it!), and Mrs Brydges is wretched unpleasant, and none of the others are in town except Mrs Darcy. And I am to be a companion to Elizabeth and Elizabeth always knows everything about people so I am sure I shall hear all sorts of things, and besides, she is so very rich, she is bound to have more _beaux_ than you can imagine, and so I shall meet all sorts of people. Oh, forgive me, this is so rambling and incoherent, but I am terribly excited. And I am sure I shall see you too, Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner are always doing some sort of business when they get within five miles of each other. I am sure you could come with us, nobody would care that your fortune was got in trade if you're Mr Darcy's niece — well, cousin, but it's almost the same thing, especially since your mother could practically be his sister.

Oh, and there's been the most awful fuss after my convincing Kitty to refuse this monstrously rich gentleman. He was thirty-five and plain and _so dull._ Besides, she was terrified of marrying him, because she felt she had to. So I just made friends with his sister and talked her around and she talked him around so he never proposed, but I had to persuade Kitty not to accept him just in case. He was really nobody despite being so rich, you know. The natural son of somebody, marrying a Miss Bingley! Can you imagine it?

That is all that I can think of, I will tell you everything when I am there.

I remain your affectionate cousin,

Martha

**Letter 30: Sarah Gardiner to Elizabeth Darcy**

_March 8th_

Elizabeth,

Please forgive the brevity of this note. I have just had news from Caroline that you are to be in town this spring? I confess I am surprised, but I am delighted for my own sake. It will be a pleasure to see you all again, and particularly you, my dear friend. Please give my regards to my cousins.

S. G.

**Letter 31: Elizabeth Wickham to John Wickham**

_March 10th_

My dear brother,

Forgive my impudence, but I must ask you to come and stay at Longbourn, where I presently reside. George may have told you of my unfortunate mishap? In the circumstance that he has not, I will summarise: I twisted my ankle as I was passing through the village, and the Collinses insisted upon inviting me to stay with them until it had healed. Foolishly, I attempted to walk on it, and fell down again, more painfully. My ankle is now broken. That is the less disturbing aspect, however; our cousin William took liberties with my person after my fall. I feel sure that it was merely nerves, but even so, I would be greatly relieved to have your company. _You_ would certainly prevent any such recurrences.

I remain your affectionate sister,

Elizabeth Wickham


End file.
